


Silver Bindings

by EvieWarner



Category: Big Hero 6 (2014)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Deconstruction, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Heavy Angst, Love Triangles, M/M, Sibling Incest, Slow Build
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-07
Updated: 2015-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-05 12:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5374973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvieWarner/pseuds/EvieWarner
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Everyone is born with the name of their soul mate written on their hand. The only problem? The name on Hiro's hand isn't 'Tadashi Hamada'.</p><p>"The name right here—if it said Hiro Hamada, what would you say to me?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oops, I've done it again—ANOTHER fic in the works? Somewhere along the works of 'More Important Things', I was itching for something a bit further from 'happily ever after.'

Everyone is born with the name of their soul mate written on their hand.

For all the years of research put into deconstructing this phenomenon, nobody knows why or when this abnormality began to crop up. Mentions of it have been scattered in ancient texts, prompting many historians to wonder if it has existed for as long as humans have lived, or more importantly, have loved.

Scientists delve into the strings of DNA, trying to uncover the meaning hidden within the endless lists of numbers and letters.

But the work is to no avail.

The result is always the same: it simply exists.

Occasionally, the name is printed in a curled, flowing script, whereas other names are scrawled with a heavy hand. There's never a pattern, only that the person one has been matched up with inevitably possesses identical handwriting.

That name is scripted along the tender part of one's palm, just where the fine bones of the thumb flexes and shifts beneath skin, trailing down the line with palmists have nicknamed _the life line_ , but truthfully, everybody knows it is the line that delineates the fragile lining of one's heart.

Intimacy of the highest order, a cosmic string of fate that let's one _know_.

Be it they hold hands or share a kiss, a sort of purity, a kind of magic in that one moment, where the names entwine together. It's that very moment in which a person will know, without a shadow of doubt, that their name is written on the other's palm, and vice versa.

A burst of fire, a spark that travels through their veins, hot and liquid, a flame that can only be described as love.

Countless individuals fall head-over-heels with the romanticism of this spiritual tie of fate. But of course, there are many who resent this—this _fatality_ of life.

Just one name in the masses is Hiro Hamada.

* * *

 

He's four years old when he figures out the meaning behind the name tattooed on his palm.

His aunt soothes his inquiries by relaying the story of how his parents met, where Maemi Takachiho had been introduced to Cassandra Hamada during a college meet-and-greet, and had dared to hope that her new acquaintance was the connection to the name on her palm: _Tomeo Hamada_.

"A match made in heaven," Aunt Cass claims, eyes glazing over with a film of nostalgia.

Hiro sits on the opposite end of the couch, staring at his hand with unreadable eyes. It's a natural response in light of the revelation that a faceless stranger is the one made for them; two sides of the same coin, and so forth.

Tactful of his plight, Cass vacates the room after planting a kiss in his inky hair, then returns to deal with the lunch time rush whilst her youngest nephew absorbs the new information.

Unseen by misunderstanding eyes, Hiro's own cloud with resentment.

* * *

 

His palm itches.

It reminds Hiro of an incident a few months prior, when he'd stuck his hand in a nettle bush, mistaking it for the white dead-nettle kind. He'd scrambled back with a yelp as he clutched his stinging hand, but despite the pile of dock leaves Tadashi had rubbed against the lumpy skin, it had itched like _crazy_ for days.

_Marys Iosama_

The words prickle relentlessly from the moment Hiro decides he hates them, no matter how hard he rubs his palm against his sleeve or how deeply he digs his stubby nails into the raw flesh. Irritation spikes through the mild pain, even when Hiro's skin cracks and bleeds through the sunshine-yellow words.

As Tadashi patches up the crescent grooves, he jokingly inquires if Hiro snaffled a pack of sherbet lemons from Mrs. Matsuda's purse again, and lightly pinches his little brother's taunt cheek.

But when Hiro turns his foul pout-and-glare combo at him, worry overwhelms the light-hearted humor on Tadashi's face.

"Is something bothering you, otōto?"

To put it mildly, yes. But the real question, in Hiro's opinion, is what offends him. The answer lies beneath the Band-Aid taped across his scratches.

Idly, Hiro picks at the irksome fabric, a motion that causes Tadashi's eyebrows to elevate.

"Oh."

Silence smothers the atmosphere for a solid minute, before Tadashi's breathy laugh banishes it. He sinks into his abandoned desk chair, tension slipping away from him.

"You figured it out, huh?" he says with a smile. "Weird, isn't it?"

Weird is so _not_ the word on Hiro's mind.

Questions dance throughout his brain, a never-ending conga line of basic common sense. For instance, what if he doesn't like _Marys Iosama_ or vice versa? Does she share common interests? What if Hiro doesn't ever want to get married?

For goodness sake, he's already voiced that notion to Aunt Cass, back when he'd shuddered with revulsion over newly-weds in the café who showered one another with _icky kisses_.

Ew.

His skin crawls just thinking of it.

Hiro looks up into almond-shaped eyes as a larger hand rests on his shoulder; compassion and reassurance swirl together in coffee-brown irises.

"But you're worried, aren't you?" Tadashi guesses, hitting the nail on the head. As always.

Hiro nods, rougher than necessary. But his frown wavers when Tadashi ruffles his hair.

"Hey," the older boy teases with a grin, "try worrying about _me!_ I'm eleven, Hiro—I'm old. What if I find my soul mate tomorrow and she wants to get married next week? What if I don't find her and end up alone forever? My clock's ticking! Jeez, you don't need to worry about it for years."

"What if I find her—" He _won't_ say her name. "—tomorrow, too?"

"You still don't need to worry. You can't get married for ages, Hiro. Besides," Tadashi adds with a serene smile, "I've heard soul mates have a way of finding their way back to each other."

Funny, how words intended one way come across as another. Reassurance evaporates like snowflakes on a summer's day, and Hiro feels unbreakable bars sprouting from the ground to cage him in like a crippled bunny.

He should be safe, in a way, locked up behind those bars. But instead, Hiro feels suffocated. He's trapped, unable to move as his unwanted soul mate creeps closer with each breath he takes.

There's no running. No escape.

It's written in the stars, not just his hand.

Meant to be.

A wave of vertigo melts Hiro's spine, sending him flopping forward into Tadashi's lap. Suddenly, he feels a lot like crying.

"Hey, hey. Hiro, look at me, buddy."

He tries to comply, but his limbs have been replaced with wet rope, and Hiro can do little more than whine against his brother's chest. The distressed call magnetizes Tadashi's hand through a wild tangle of black hair.

"Hiro," the older boy soothes, gently combing through fluffy locks, "I'm serious, here. I've heard it's always a perfect match. A guarantee to happiness."

It shouldn't be possible to feel this offended by biology. _Happy?_ He's perfectly happy, thank you very much. He has his nerdy, but awesome big brother, the best aunt ever, and just like she doesn't need a strange man to make her smile, Hiro doesn't need an icky _girl_ to laugh out loud.

Swiftly regaining control over his body, Hiro jolts upright to glare at his brother. "Aunt Cass doesn't know _her_ soul mate," he snaps. "And _she's_ happy."

"Well no, but—" Tadashi sighs heavily, then runs a hand through his short hair, uncaring as his cap plonks to the floor. "This is coming out wrong. I meant that you won't be _un_ happy with them, not that you'll be miserable unless you marry them."

His nose crinkles. "That's stupid."

Visibly out of loss of anything else to say, Tadashi chuckles. "Can't change the rules, buddy."

So wait, it's a rule now? Like the ones in kindergarten, where if somebody doesn't clean up their paint pallet, they have to sit in the corner?

Hiro stares at his palm, where a yellow 'a' peaks out from beneath the Band-Aid, and a fresh wave of fury hits him.

He will never, _ever_ be okay with this.

* * *

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates, updates, updates ... yeah, don't hold your breath over those. :P

At six years old, Hiro witnesses a joining.

On the third week of his second semester in first grade, the teacher introduces a transfer student by the name of Kristoff Anderson. Two seats away from Hiro's desk, he catches sight of Anna Helland stiffen in her seat, her previously bored eyes widening substantially.

It might have been comical, had the poor girl not been on edge for the cluster of first lessons.

Hiro observes discreetly as she shots odd glances at Kristoff throughout the pop quiz, pencil gripped so hard that it snaps clean in half by the time the lunch bell rings.

It takes her nearly the whole week to muster up the courage to speak to him.

From the warped knowledge floating in the gossip mill, Hiro assumes it went poorly.

(In fact, Anna's stricken face and Kristoff's visible unease speaks for itself.)

By that Friday afternoon, as Hiro stands beneath one of the Sakura trees waiting for Tadashi, a stern voice snags his attention. He peaks around the skinny trunk to find Anna with whom he assumes be her parents, looking to be receiving a rather serious lecture.

"— _still young, darling_."

" _Really, you can't expect it to work out just like that_."

"— _on't worry, in a few years he'll be begging you for your hand_ —"

Hiro swallows down the lump congealing in his throat.

A distraught plea of, "But Mommy, I don't want him to—he's so mean!" falls on deaf ears.

With a wave of her hand, as though dispelling her daughter's fear, the tactless mother smiles brightly. "Just give it time, darling. You'll see," she insists. "Now wipe those tears away, and we'll see if he wants to arrange a play date this Sunday."

Never mind that Anna doesn't want to. She doesn't want _him_. And clearly, he doesn't care much for her, either.

But fear not about that, it's meant to be!

Auto-pilot careens Hiro into his brother's arms the nano-second Tadashi appears in his line of sight, meek pleas of, "Wanna go home, now," slipping past trembling lips.

* * *

 

For a solid hour, he's been glaring at his cinnamon roll as if it embodies the root of his distress.

It may as well be, the stupid thing. Doesn't need to fret over which flavoured sprinkles it'll be topped with, or who's stomach it'll end up in. Oh, no. An easy living from raw ingredients, through the oven, and onto the café shelf.

Hiro closes his eyes.

He's jealous of a pastry.

_That's_ ... _that's just lame_.

Finally sick of it, Hiro shoves the plate aside without care of the scolding he'll get for allowing Mochi to hop onto the table and snarf the treat down. It isn't like he's never been yelled at before. And besides, the kitten was already tubby round the middle when they adopted him.

Hiro groans, seeming to deflate at the action as he slumps forward. His forehead hits the table top with a dull _thump_. Unfortunately, the faint throbbing doesn't distract from the need to scrub his hands raw.

He hates it. Loathes it. Despises it.

Yet, he sees it everywhere; adults holding hands with wedding rings haloing multi-coloured names, giddy teenagers as physically entwined as their souls, and even on rare occasions, curious children who watch one another with complete certainty.

Love. Soul mates. Fate.

_Bleh_.

How can adults be that naïve? So accepting of a perceived inevitability that only social conduct enforces?

" _Easy_ ," Tadashi had once said, " _Adults aren't as smart as us_."

But then, wasn't Tadashi lying if he could accept it, too?

One day, will he meet his mystery partner and accept them, without a blink of an eye? In that very same manner Tadashi agreed to help with the afternoon shift twenty minutes ago?

His brother is too kind.

He'll go to the end of the world to make that person happy, even if they don't deserve a smile from Tadashi.

Hiro wonders who that person will be: what they look like, their interests, if they'll click with Tadashi as a soul mate should—

—but most importantly, when they'll show up.

He's seen that name before, a few times. Except he never took the opportunity to memorize the odd, but seemingly pointless words.

But he remembers they're written in pink.

A vivid, bubblegum _pink_.

It's the only blemish on his brother's flawless skin, and by far the ugliest feature a mortal would be so unfortunate as to have.

He catches fleeting glimpses of it as Tadashi goes about his kitchen duties, gathering up dirty dishes and scribbling down orders. How can his brother go about his day, unaffected by that atrocity?

How can _anybody_ shrug if off and live their lives, knowing a few words bind them for eternity?

Resentment broils in his young heart at the spiritual claim that brands his brother. Solid proof that a faceless stranger out there in the big, wide world had first dibs on him before they knew he existed.

It's so _not_ fair.

So not _right_.

Inwardly, Hiro seethes.

* * *

 

"Did Mochi steal your gummy bears?"

Hiro blinks, eyes darting up from the TV to meet his brother's confused own. As Tadashi taps his pencil against the pages of his homework, Hiro relents the death-grip he has on the green throw pillow.

"You've been in a bad mood all day and you look like the TV offended our great ancestors."

Again, Hiro blinks. "Oh," he murmurs, then returns to his staring contest with Usagi Tsukino.

(Oh, look—she already blinked. Score one to Hiro. How lame.)

Pointedly ignoring the couch dipping as Tadashi scoots closer, Hiro curls his knees to his chest, eyes locked with Usagi's—oops, still blinking; she's so bad at this game—as a warm hand curls around his own.

"Hiro."

Speaking of gummy bears, hadn't he stashed them under his pillow this morning?

Oh, if Mochi had even _thought_ of snaffling a few—

Hiro gasps sharply as a second hand cups his chin, carefully turning his head towards the concern running rampant on Tadashi's. Instantly, the toxic blend of fury, confusion, and fear melts away into guilt for planting that distress in those warm brown eyes.

_Stupid, stupid!_

"It's really upsetting you, isn't it?" Tadashi murmurs, looking physically pained to say it aloud.

_Yes, it is!_

He wants to scream it to the neighborhood and scrub the yellow etchings off his hand—it's _his_ life, and _he'll_ be the one making his own decisions.

In all honesty, Hiro yearns to know: _is it that hard?_

Head resting against Tadashi's bicep, he sucks on his lower lip and exhales heavily through his nose. With too much to say and zero ideas on how to voice them, Hiro smooshes his face into his brother's sleeve with a small, helpless whine.

"Won't like her. I know I won't."

From the silence perpetuating on Tadashi's end, he has nothing to say to that. Then going by the hug he sweeps Hiro into, he's decided it matters not.

Tension physically drains out of Hiro like water off a duck's feathers, but his lapse in satisfaction pushes the question from his mind to his lips.

Face buried against his brother's shoulder, Hiro demands, "What's her name?"

Oh, yes. Her. A female. Future wife.

Ask him why, but Hiro can't fathom how he suspects the mystery partner is a girl.

However, Tadashi's lack of correction makes it irrelevant, and a stone drops into Hiro's tummy. Suddenly, it feels a tad difficult to think.

Swallowing thickly, Hiro peers up at his brother. When Tadashi's opens his mouth to respond, an electrical jolt surges through Hiro; he lurches forward to clamp his small hands roughly over Tadashi's mouth, a trickle of horror scurrying through his veins at the idea of _her_ name touching Tadashi's lips.

Nu-uh. _She_ isn't going to win this round. Not on his watch.

"Don't say it," Hiro growls, narrowing his eyes as Tadashi's widen. "Lemme see it. I-I wanna see."

For a while, they're frozen in motion, twin sets of brown eyes locked onto one another.

Although Tadashi's range of options easily includes batting those smaller hands away, he silently complies without interference, as though Hiro possesses a superhuman ability that deprives him of picking one of those alternate choices.

His arm elevated in open invitation, Tadashi eyes follow Hiro as the younger slowly peels one hand from his lips, the other remaining in place despite the lack of reason to be. With trembling fingers, Hiro fumbles with his brother's sleeve, yanking it back clumsily to expose the feminine name written in a rounded, cutesy script.

Nausea pulses in his stomach.

There it is. Plain as day, clear as crystal.

_Pamela Diane Garcia_

He drops Tadashi's hand as though the appendage is riddled with germs. It may as well be.

Self-conscious, Tadashi shakes his sleeve back down as Hiro shimmies out of his lap to pad out of the room.

Out of sight, out of mind.

If only.

* * *

 

" _He's too young_. _Shouldn't have told him yet, he's really affected by it_."

" _I know, I know_. _Oh, I don't know how to make this better_. _Can I be super inappropriate and ask you to talk to him?_ "

" _Uh, why?_ "

" _He trusts you most of all_. _I explained this to him once, and look at what happened_. _You've always been much better at this parenting lark than I have, Tadashi_."

" _Sure, okay_. _I'll give it a shot_."

* * *

 

It's the closure of autumn break. The weather frosts over the edges, leaves scattering from wilting tress and crisping a layer over grass that's browning at the tips.

Hiro sits with his chin on the desk, dedication piled upon lining up colour-coded armies of gummy bears. One particularly misshapen one refuses to stand upright, so Hiro flicks it off the edge and designates the defiant bear as the town drunk.

"Doth my eyes deceive me—Hiro, did you throw away a gummy bear?"

Now, if only Hiro were in the mood to snark back.

Instead, he counts _one, two, three_ in his head and goes back to assigning toothpick-swords to the more obedient soldiers. They're not spoilt for time, after all. Unless they sort themselves out quickly, they'll lose the impending war against the chocodiles.

Socks keep Tadashi's steps silent as he crosses the room to squat next to the discarded gummy bear lying two feet from its launching point.

"You don't have let this little guy die at the bottom of a canyon," Tadashi says casually. Carefully, he plucks the unfortunate bear onto its misshapen feet, only for it to topple over when he lets go. "All he ever wanted was to serve his country, despite his handicap."

Hiro grunts. "Medic's on the way," he deadpans. Then without looking up, or even changing his tone, adds, "Uh-oh. Sabotage. Can't airlift him out."

Looking back down, Tadashi chuckles. "What a life for a gummy bear, dying like that when he just wanted to help."

Another grunt. "He's not good 'nuff."

"Aw, don't be mean, Hiro. This poor little guy. He's really young, but he's already been through a lot."

Hiro, for all his bitterness vented through an impending candy war, finally turns to stare at his brother through inky bangs, one eyebrow raised. "You're weird, 'Dashi," he says matter-of-factly.

The older boy takes it in stride, smiling brightly. "That's no way to talk to a veteran," he pipes, raising the gummy bear to eye-level. "Look at that face; he's sad, Hiro. Sad about how many regrets he has." His lips quirk. "Did you know he has a brother? A _little_ brother."

If possible, Hiro's scowl deepens. "No, he doesn't," he spits, and turns back to equipping paper umbrella-shields. "Or he'd be here, too. Brothers don't split up."

_Ding-ding-ding!_

Unseen, Tadashi's smile softens from sunshine-and-daisies to something more subdued. "But he does, Hiro. See, his little brother is too young to join the army." He meets the gummy bear's poorly defined eyes almost fondly. "Big brother, well, he _really_ wanted to help. It was a stupid idea of his—horrible, actually—to run away from his family and join the army when he had bad odds."

Hiro's little nose crinkles in disgust. "He abandoned his brother."

He spits the words like venom on his tongue—as if the very idea of such a thing, fictional or otherwise, is enough to gravely offend his great ancestors.

Though in his six-year-old mind, intellectually advanced or otherwise, it's likely bang on the mark.

"Yeah," Tadashi finds himself whispering, "he did. There's just it—he _abandoned_ his little brother. He wanted so badly to help people who needed it, that he didn't listen when his brother begged him not to go."

Ouch.

Cutting a bit close to home.

But then Tadashi looks away from the disgraced bear, ready to discard his depressing tale in favour of hugging his own, very _real_ brother until their world is bright again, when he catches sight of chocolate brown irises latched onto his own.

Through a curtain of dark hair, doe-eyes convey the message: _Go on_.

Whoa, when did his mouth suddenly dry out?

Tadashi swallows, fruitlessly lubricating his throat, before muttering: "Th-then, look at what happened: he got hurt. Now he can't help anybody."

What else is there to say?

An awful lot, apparently, because Hiro doesn't flinch. He keeps his eyes locked on his brother, a silent urging to continue.

Without realizing it, Tadashi elaborates: "He's just lying there at the bottom of the canyon, life flashing before his eyes. And he's so ... _so_ sorry he didn't stay behind. His little brother was always the smarter one, and he should have listened to him for once."

He's gripping that half-dead bear a _little_ too hard.

"Now he thinks that if he had one wish, he'd want the chance to hug his brother one last time and apologize. Tell him he loves him."

The air is silent after finishing his sentence. Too quiet. To the point where Tadashi wonders if he'll get anything out of his distressed brother, when—

"And if," comes a hesitant, desperate voice, "if he could go back in time—"

"Then he would have chosen his brother." There is zero hesitation in Tadashi's own voice. He lightly reaches out to cup Hiro's tiny hand, squeezing gently. "Always."

The younger's expression tightens, a frown contorting his face. "But he didn't. Now little brother is sad." He returns the grip on his hand with double the strength. "He wishes he didn't let his big brother go. He shouldn't have _let_ him go, he—he should've ... held on ... "

Now where is _this_ coming from?

"Hiro?"

Tiny arms clamp around his middle, barely joining at the back as Hiro squeezes his brother for all he's worth. "'D-dashi, don't—don't leave me," the words tumble out in a garbled rush.

And it's spontaneous, shocking Tadashi to his core and momentarily paralyzing his ability to react. It feels like too long until he regains control of himself to the point he coils his arms around his trembling little brother, and mindlessly rubs patterns into his back.

_Don't leave me?_

_Hiro, you know I wouldn't_ — _when have I ever implied I'd do that to you?_

Only one way to find out.

"Hey, hey, now," Tadashi shushes. "What's gotten you thinking that?"

Hiro sniffs into his shirt. "Sh-she—she'll steal you. Away f-from me."

"She'll steal me ... ?""

Oh.

_Oh_.

Tadashi's heart melts. "Hiro, is that what's been bugging you?"

A very, _very_ large flaw in the concept of sharing nigh-everything with another being: the impossibility to lie to them. By extension, the loophole of staying silent, thus not technically lying, falls flat on it's face.

Hiro feels his cheeks heat up at Tadashi's incredulous smile.

"You really think that there's somebody out there who can actually keep us apart?"

Coffee-brown eyes are alight with compassion; meant to plant serenity in Hiro's slump, but instead he feels ashamed. Then worse for it.

This is Tadashi, his big brother, his best friend. And a promise made is a promise kept.

"D-don't know. Don't—don't wanna." _Fall in love, get married, **meet that gir** **l** **—!**_

Hiro quivers with anxiety dripping from his very being, eyes wide with tears and terror. "'D-dashi, don't—" He grasps his brother's shirt desperately, hands trembling. "—don't make me!"

" _Nobody_ is forcing you to do anything. I promise, there's nothing to worry about."

"P-pinky swear?"

Tadashi doesn't miss a beat as he links his smallest finger with Hiro's. "Pinky swear."

"A-and ... " Hiro pauses, sniffs messily, then awkwardly wipes his nose on his shoulder; all while refusing to break the meager contact with his nii-san. "—and you?"

Coffee-brown eyes melt into rich pools of compassion and _love_ that warms Hiro's anxious heart, then Tadashi simply glows with that oh-so beautiful smile of his. "You're so silly, otōto," he murmurs. "Like a girl could ever split us up."

Gingerly, he leans forward to bring their faces close enough that for a bewildering moment, Hiro thinks his nii-san is about to kiss him, until their foreheads are gently pressed together, noses touching.

"Forget about her," Tadashi whispers, breath ghosting over his brother's lips. "Hiro always comes first."

How can his brother make him feel so foolish? Ashamed? _Embarrassed?_

This is Tadashi Hamada; grade A dork and super-cool brother. To him, a promise made is a promise kept.

And he made that promise years ago, back at a time that Hiro can scarcely remember. But it isn't an excuse, not when Tadashi is looking at him like that, the way he did all those years ago—

"Hiro?"

—back when Hiro had been on the verge of tears then, too.

So, just like those years ago, Hiro does the only logical thing: smooshing his face into Tadashi's chest and _sobbing_.

The interlude lasts a while; long enough for Tadashi's shirt to soak through with the evidence of Hiro's snotty cries.

But then a larger hand cups Hiro's chubby cheek, coaxing him to look up. "Hey, buddy," Tadashi coos with a knowing smile. "Rule number one: Tadashi loves Hiro. Remind me, what's rule number two?"

The vow of love they'd made to one another two years prior, during that first, _awful_ night of painful tears and desperate hugs.

It's been so long, much too long since they'd reassured themselves of that fact.

Hiro swallows thickly. "Rule number two," he whispers, "H-Hiro loves 'Dashi."

To which Tadashi snaps his fingers. "That's right!" he praises, then combs a hand through wild hair. "Why do you think we have those rules if they didn't mean anything, Hiro?"

Tiny hands clamp over his, effectively halting the rustling of Hiro's hair as doe-eyes stare up, hard as steel. "Rule number three," Hiro asserts, face set with as much seriousness as a six year old can muster, "Tadashi will never, _ever_ leave."

Tadashi's lips quirk. "Rule number four: Hiro is a little worrywart."

Pink lips, previously taunt, plump out in a pout. "Rule number five: 'Dashi is _laaame_."

Mock-hurt splashes across Tadashi's face, before his eyebrows droop and his lower lip juts out in an exaggerated pout of his own.

Hiro rolls his eyes at the display, but nonetheless mutters, "But he's still the best brother, ever."

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See that, right there? That marks the end of our rendezvous into the land of fluffy snuggles. Shame—it would've made for a very different story.

**Author's Note:**

> So, yah. Bit of a side experiment I've been tampering with for the last few weeks. :P


End file.
